


Lonely Hearts Club

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Pining, Platonic Cuddling, platonic makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7197497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Okay, that’s completely different!” Holster argues, sounding offended, “Justin Oluransi is a kind and gentle soul who has never done anything to anyone and who snores like a puppy when he sleeps. Jack is…” </p>
<p>Holster trails off. Bitty bumps his shoulder.</p>
<p>“Jealous of Jack?” He asks playfully, and Holster laughs loudly.</p>
<p>“Obviously.” he replies, “You’re a catch and Jack doesn’t deserve you. C’mere--”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely Hearts Club

**Author's Note:**

> This was born because there is 1. a significant lack of bitty/holster (or bitty/ransom for that matter) makeout fics and 2. a significant lack of fic where bitty and holster interact one on one at all, which is my weakness. so. this.
> 
> I love these boys. I want them all to kiss each other.

Bitty is hiding.

It’s stupid and childish and so, so immature, and if he was smart he would just go back in there and tell his date that he’s tired or sad or drunk or something, but. But.

The cool air hitting his skin is nice, and if he just hides out here on the roof for another hour, surely his date will get the point and leave and just. Never talk to him again, or make him face this childish game he’s playing, or his own inability to move the fuck on, or his stupid, stupid crush.

It’s so stupid. He forces himself to remember that Jack isn’t his, and he never will be, and that, it’s just like Shitty said, crushes on people you can’t have are just an excuse to deny yourself happiness, or whatever. He can’t remember the whole speech, Shitty had been really high, and he still thinks he might have been talking about Lardo.

He breathes, takes another sip of his beer, weighs his options. Go inside, confront his date. Stay outside, text his date. Go inside, get drunk enough to forget about Jack, sleep with his objectively attractive date. Feel guilty. 

He sighs. He’s probably too drunk to make decisions anyway. He doesn’t really feel drunk, though. maybe he’s just angry. He draws his knees to his chest, resting his head there. Fuck.

The window opens, and someone sits down next to him. Bitty keeps his eyes shut tight, just for a second, preparing himself to open his eyes and find his date, or Shitty, or, worse, Jack.

When he opens his eyes and lifts his head, though, he finds a very frazzled and sympathetic looking Holster, hair a mess and shutter shades hanging out of the front of his shirt. 

“So, James was looking for you,” he says as a greeting, and dread settles in Bitty’s stomach. Holster is going to grill him about why he doesn’t like the date he set him up with, why he never likes the people him and ransom set him up with. 

“Oh,” He replies, not sure how else to respond. He doesn’t meet Holster’s eyes.

“You’re not into him, are you?” Holster asks, and yep, there it is.

“No.” 

It’s silent for a moment, and then Holster inhales. Exhales. 

“I’m not a huge fan of my date either, to be honest.” he says, surprising Bitty. He finally looks up to meet Holster’s eyes.

“Why?” He asks, mostly to make conversation. Holster snorts, no humor in the sound. 

“She’s not really what I’m looking for at the moment.” he replies, and Bitty feels like there’s a joke in there that he’s not getting. His head is a bit fuzzy, maybe he’s too drunk. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to get it. “Bits, bro, you look like you could use a cuddle.” 

Bitty smiles at that, because Holster also looks like he needs a cuddle, and Holster gives good hugs, and honestly he just loves Holster. He scoots over, close enough that he can rest his head on Holster’s shoulder. It feels shockingly warm on Bitty’s cheek, probably because he’s been sitting out here with the breeze for about twenty minutes. He closes his eyes as Holster puts an arm around him, resting his hand on Bitty’s side. 

They sit there for a few minutes before Holster’s hand starts playing with the hem of Bitty’s shirt, and maybe it’s the alcohol, or the loneliness, or the softness of the moment, but Bitty’s stomach dips when Holster’s warm, huge, palm finds its way under his shirt. Fuck. What is wrong with him.

Bitty squeezes his eyes shut tighter, tells himself not to shiver, even though he can feel the goosebumps starting to blossom on his arms. He inhales slowly, trying to make it seem normal, even though his heart has already started picking up. 

_After only that_ , he thinks, _get it together, Bittle_.

Holster’s thumb starts rubbing his stomach, just above his hipbone, and Bitty’s breathe hitches. He bites his cheek, making himself breathe normally by sheer force of will. He tries to remind himself that this is Holster, king of platonic cuddles and touches (after Shitty). This doesn’t mean anything and he shouldn’t _want_ it to mean anything, because he doesn’t like Holster like that.

_This is platonic!_ he’s screaming to himself internally, _Stop being weird! This is HOLSTER._

Except Holster does the thing with his thumb again, and that’s it. Bitty hears himself whimper, and then feels Holster’s hand still on his hip. Now he’s done it. 

It’s quiet for a beat too long, and Bitty goes to pull away, an apology already on his lips. _“I’m so sorry, Holster, I’m just lonely and horny and got caught up in the moment”_ , should do it, but Holster’s hand is still firm on his side, keeping him from wiggling away. He speaks before Bitty can. 

“Bitty...” he says, and, oh. He sounds… weird. Bitty’s never heard his voice that low. It’s really not helpful for his current situation. “Are you, like-?”

“-Yeah, um.” Bitty interrupts, “I’m so sorry, Holster, I’m just- God, I’m kinda tipsy? And I guess I just-”

“Bits.” Holster cuts him off, a small smile playing on his lips, “It’s okay, I’m, uh.” He pauses, clears his throat, and waits until Bitty meets his eyes. “I’m down, you know, if you are.” 

He’s full on grinning now, and Bitty still feels warm and light from his beer and from Holster’s hand on his hip, and, honestly, it’s been a while. He didn’t even know Holster liked guys, but his eyes flick to Holster’s mouth, his arms, his jaw, and yeah. Yeah. He wants this. He kind of needs it, like, yesterday. 

He manages to nod, his eyes still locked with Holster’s. There’s a bit of tension, a bit of “who’s going to make this happen”, before Holster leans forward, capturing Bitty’s mouth and kissing him softly. The kiss doesn’t stay soft for long, and Bitty sighs into Holster’s mouth, moving one hand to the back of Holster’s neck.

He messages Holster’s neck, playing with the soft, short little hairs there, and Holster moans. It’s one of the hottest things Bitty’s every heard, if he’s being honest with himself. He should have made out with Holster a long time ago. 

Holster’s hands are roaming, and Bitty feels a bit overwhelmed. He’s fully hard, and he’s tempted to just crawl into Holster’s lap, but the sudden breeze on the back of his neck reminds him that they are very much outside, in public, and there’s a huge party going on inside. He pulls away from Holster’s mouth, planning on asking him to come back to his room with him, but the distance between their mouths seems to make Holster suddenly aware that, hey, Bitty has a neck. He starts mouthing at Bitty’s throat, and Bitty bites his lip to keep in the groan.

“Holst--Holster, wait--hhnng, okay,” Bitty tries, tapping on Holster’s shoulder insistently, “Fuck, okay. Stop.” 

Holster withdraws his mouth, a sheepish smile in his lips. “sorry,” he apologizes, and Bitty rolls his eyes.

“We’re on the roof.” Bitty states.

“Yes.”

“We’re on the roof and I’m really turned on, and want you to come to my room with me,” he tries again, and Holster nods feverishly, already moving to get up. Bitty grins, a weird sense of pride coming to him knowing that he’s making Holster, of all people, flustered. 

They make their way to Bitty’s room, as subtly as they can manage. When they finally get the door closed Holster leans down, lifts Bitty from under his knees, and has him pressed firmly against the door. Bitty almost loses it, another whimper escaping him as he threads his fingers needily in Holster’s hair, all but attacking him with his mouth. 

They kiss like that for a few minutes, sloppy and needy and probably too loud, though if anyone hears anything they probably won’t care or will assume that Bitty is just sleeping with his date. 

He thinks of Jack, who is probably across the hall in bed already, hearing him and Holster making out and maybe putting two and two together. Maybe Jack will be jealous, he thinks, before pushing it out of his head. Because Jack won’t be jealous. Because Jack is straight. 

Still, the thought of Jack maybe hearing them has Bitty gasping, arching into Holster as much as he can in his position. He doesn’t know why it’s so hot to him, but he suddenly feels really overwhelmed. 

“Holster,” he stammers, “Fuck, Holster, I need..” He doesn’t finish before Holster is gently setting him down, looking like he’s headed for the bed.

Something in Bitty makes him grab Holster’s arm. “Not, um.” he starts, collecting his thoughts, “Not the bed.” he says, and Holster nods. 

Something about the bed is too intimate, Bitty realizes, thinking about Senior Bun tucked under his pillow, a precautionary move in case his date had actually worked out. He thinks about the pillow he’s had since he was in high school, the blanket his Moomaw had knitted him when he was ten. Yeah, the bed is definitely too intimate. 

Holster crowds him back up against the door, and Bitty focuses back on the task at hand. Holster has his mouth back on Bitty’s neck, sucking and biting a hickey into the sweet spot right under his jaw. He closes his eyes, letting his hand land on Holster’s bicep, and Jesus Christ, this boy is _huge._

Holster moves then, pressing his hand against the door and moving in a way that makes bitty suddenly feel very stuck, in between the door and Holster, and his brain short circuits.

He thinks about that morning, during checking practice, when Jack had had him in a very similar situation, pressed against the boards with nowhere to go. And then it’s like he can’t stop his mind, and all of a sudden he’s just thinking about Jack.

Jack, in his room, hearing Bitty and Holster. Jack, in Holster’s place right now, kissing his neck and holding his hips. He can’t stop, and as Holster nuzzles his nose against Bitty’s ear lobe, he has to close his eyes to stop the images.

Jack, fucking him. He’d let Jack fuck him in his bed. God. He needs to stop. 

He makes a sound, and pulls Holster out from his neck, a guilty feeling already setting in at the conversation he’s about to start. “Sorry,” he says, shifting his eyes to the ground, “We need to stop.”

Holster’s face falls, and he takes a step back, giving Bitty room to move again. 

“Shit, Bits,” He says, “Fuck, was that a stupid thing to do?” 

Bitty sighs, closing his eyes and putting his face in his hands. He takes a deep breath, shaking his head on the exhale.

“It’s okay,” he starts, “It was fine, I’m just. God. I’m kind of? Messed up right now. About someone.” 

Holster hums, and when Bitty removes his head from his hands, Holster is looking sympathetic. 

“Join the club,” he replies, holding out his fist for a fist bump, and Bitty can't refuse. He lets himself smile slightly when he bumps his fist into Holster’s, and then walks across the room to sit on the edge of his bed. He thinks for a moment, before pushing one of his many pillows away and patting the spot next to him. Holster grins and sits down next to him. He slings an arm around Bitty’s shoulders, bro-y as ever, as if they hadn’t just been making out like their lives depended on it. Bitty rolls his eyes. “Ransom is downstairs right now making out with that blonde girl on the volleyball team, so, I guess I was also emotionally vulnerable.” 

Bitty raises his eyebrow, “You like the girl from the volleyball team?” He asks, confused. He thought that the two of them had only met a week ago, and Bitty can’t even think of a time that he’s seen the two of them together without Ransom. 

Holster laughs, an honest, loud, laugh, and Bitty once again feels like he’s missed something. He notices that the laugh doesn’t entirely meet Holster’s eyes, though. So that’s a start.

“No, dude.” he says, pretending to dramatically wipe tears from his eyes. “Ransom.”

And, oh. Okay. That’s not a terrible surprise, when he thinks about it, but he must not be able to completely keep the surprise off of his face, because Holster laughs again, this time a bit bitterly, and adds, “Damn, Bits. Don’t act so surprised.”

Bitty tries and fails to come up wit a retort, but just ends up stuttering out “I- okay, so, like. I’m not- Ransom?”

“Heteronormativity got your tongue?” Holster interrupts, pulling a laugh from Bitty.

“We were just making out,” he reminds him, “I figured you weren’t straight, like, a half an hour ago,” he says, bumping Holster’s shoulder. 

“Right,” Holster says, his grin widening, “That happened. I can finally add ‘Bits’ to my list of teammates I’ve made out with.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Bitty says, grabbing a pillow and smacking Holster in the face with it. “Who else is on the list?”

Holster is quiet for a minute before answering, “Ransom.”

Bitty nods, “So...you and Ransom act like you’re dating, share a bed sometimes, have made out, and visit each other’s families during summer break but you’re...not dating?” he asks, giving Holster a look. 

Holster chuckles humorlessly again, mutters a bitter “yep,” before raising an eyebrow, “Okay, I’ve spilled. Your turn,” he declares, and Bitty inhales sharply.

“I- what?” he asks, figuring he might as well try out the playing dumb approach. 

“Who is it that you’re so fucked up about, dude?” He asks, and Bitty sighs. He knows from the way that Holster is looking at him that he’s not only curious, but also a bit worried. He’s a good friend, and Bitty trusts him. He does. 

He tries to tell himself that. He trusts Holster with this. Holster isn’t going to run and tell Jack. Holster isn’t going to make fun of him.

Holster isn’t going to lock him in a closet. 

He breathes heavily, trying to find a good way to phrase his problem. What ends up happening is him blurting out “I’m in love with Jack” in one breath, his cheeks turning red and his eyes closing in preparation for an impact he knows won’t come. 

Holster mutters “Well, shit, dude.” And it’s Bitty’s turn to laugh bitterly. 

“Yeah, so. That’s my problem,” he finishes, opening his eyes and fixing them on the carpet. 

It’s silent for a moment before Holster speaks. 

“Why Jack?” he asks finally, and Bitty snorts. 

“Why Ransom?” 

“Okay, that’s completely different!” Holster argues, sounding offended, “Justin Oluransi is a kind and gentle soul who has never done anything to anyone and who snores like a puppy when he sleeps. Jack is…” 

Holster trails off. Bitty bumps his shoulder.

“Jealous of Jack?” He asks playfully, and Holster laughs loudly.

“Obviously.” he replies, “You’re a catch and Jack doesn’t deserve you. C’mere--”

Holster reaches out, pulling Bitty close to him and making exaggerated kissing noises as he plants wet kisses all over Bitty’s face. Bitty is reminded of his grandmother’s Saint Bernard puppy. 

Bitty giggles, pushing Holster away as best as he can. He’s not very successful for obvious reasons, and he ends up in a very messed up bed, cuddled to Holster’s chest. It’s moments like these that he’s so, so glad he chose Samwell. He really, truly loves his giant, hockey puppy friends. 

A phone buzzes, and Bitty knows for a fact that his was taken by Shitty at the beginning of the kegster “Just in case someone gets drunk tweet-y, Bittle”. Holster groans, getting up to go get his phone off of Bitty’s desk where he must have dropped it earlier. 

“Sorry, it’s Ransom,” Holster says, and Bitty nods. He’s getting sleepy. He curls into a ball, tempted to pull the covers over his head and just go to sleep with the party still going on downstairs. “He’s, um. He wanted to tell me not to wait up for him, so.” 

He ends the sentence with a shrug, and Bitty frowns, scooting over to the wall so that there’s extra room on the bed. He grabs the covers and pulls them over himself, but opens his arms in a welcoming gesture. Holster grins and drops his phone, all but jumping into the bed next to Bitty. 

“Dude, can I spoon you?” Holster asks once he’s settled down, “You’re so-”

“-Finish the sentence and loose bed privileges.” 

“Sorry bro.”

Bitty rolls his eyes before closing them, allowing Holster to spoon him. It’s nice, being held. He hears Holster hum something familiar under his breath, and it takes him a minute to place it. When he does, he groans. 

“Are you humming the Beatles?”

Holster laughs, “Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Bits! Come on.”

“No,” Bitty says, trying to keep the grin off of his face, “No Dad Rock in my bed.”

“I don’t think the Beatles count as Dad Rock, to be fair,” Holster defends. “They’re really just a glorified boy band from the sixties.” 

“I like One Direction more.” 

“Baby you light up my world like nobody else,” Holster sings softly. Bitty kicks him.

“Get _out_ of my room,” he demands, laughing. Holster hugs him tighter. Bitty sighs, accepting defeat.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face and a lightness in his heart that wasn’t there earlier. In the morning, Holster is gone and there’s a note on his forehead that reads “Thanks for the snuggles, Bits. Love you, man. I’m always upstairs.”

He both hates and loves his friends. 


End file.
